


His Sweet Surrender

by olaf_slittlebitch



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Domme!Violet, F/M, GiveVioletBackHerPower, Sub!Olaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 20:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olaf_slittlebitch/pseuds/olaf_slittlebitch
Summary: Olaf knows nothing except her & the gorgeous way she destroys him.





	His Sweet Surrender

She’s washing dishes, humming a lullaby to herself as her callused hands scrub at the cookware. His troupe had left early that evening, presumably to leave them some privacy- an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture for their anniversary. She hardly looks at him, glancing over just enough to make sure he is still on the floor, spread out the way she likes him. The stone tiling of their kitchen floor is digging into his aging knees, but he knows better than to complain.

The first time she had him wasn’t this way. He remembers ravishing her in their decrepit library, lasting all of about 30 seconds inside her before dragging out of her slowly. He remembers her face, more unimpressed than anything & he remembers not sticking around long enough to even ask the shameful question of if she came. He knows, knew the answer. He thinks more than anything, more than their horrific past and his atonement, he is paying now for the crime of leaving her unsatisfied and underwhelmed. 

The night is cool, and he can already feel the hair on his body standing up and his nipples pebbling in the slight draught as she finishes up the washing. She lets her hair down and it glows luminescent in the moonlight. She’s soft and radiant and he wants her more than anything else in the entire world. He whimpers.

“Olaf, my pet,” she croons softly. He knows better than to beg for her attention before she’s ready to give it. She’s in a good mood though, which means she lets this slight slide and tosses him his collar instead. It’s thick black leather, solid, and thick enough for him to feel it. “Nice and tight darling, you know the drill.” 

“Yes, Violet.” He only calls her this when there is no one else around, when the power is in her hands completely and totally. It is his ultimate submission, her favorite reminder that he is hers and does what she says. She checks his buckling with two fingers just wide enough for him to choke. 

“Sit tight now.” His face burns with humiliation. The way she talks at him is his least and most favorite part of this entire production- the way she controls him with nothing but her tone and disdain, the way that makes him want to please her even more. Behind him, he hears what sounds like her chopping vegetables but turning around now would doom him. In his head, he hears the swish-crack of her favorite flogger and resolutely stares straight ahead.

Her nails trail lightly across his back and he shivers. Her voice is light with amusement.

“You’re in for it tonight, my pet. Want to guess why?” He racks his brain, casts it back to their evening. Most of it is lost in the raucous laughing of his troupe but he remembers a red skirt that caught his eye too long and hangs his head in shame. How could she know? He could’ve sworn- “You call me Goddess for a reason, right, Olaf? I always know,” and with this she bends so close to him he nearly breaks position until her nails pinch his ear hard enough to draw blood. “You have exactly four minutes to get upstairs, put on your blindfold, and get your pasty ass in the air. Each extra 10 seconds is 5 lashes.” 

As soon as she releases him, he runs for the stairs, heedless of the way his erection bobs sloppily or his pale flesh is bare in the light. Reaching the top of the stairs and entering his room, he puts on his blindfold quickly, stilling into position on top of the satin sheets. She’s given him extra time to anticipate, and by the time she comes in, her boots a solid thunk against wood, he’s shaking with anticipation. Outside, he may have her fortune, her obedience, her demure smile. In here, he has nothing but a safeword to protect him from any way she plans to break him. He longs to shatter before her.

“Safeword, Olaf?” 

“Beatrice.” 

“Good boy.” He can’t tell if her words are genuine, but they cast a thrill through him anyway. In this position, kneeling in child’s pose on the bed, there is no way he can hide the shudder that runs through him at her praise. She runs a hand over him possessively. He positively purrs. “You’re just a hungry little slut tonight, aren’t you pet? Just absolutely desperate to make up for your-“ she clamps his nipple, tight “- wandering eyes.” She sets the other clamp in place, admiring how owned he looks. 

His nipples already ache and he wonders how he will survive the night. Sighing, she tuts at him. “Just proves to me I need to teach you your place more often, huh?” She’s talkative tonight and he doesn’t know what it means. He keeps quiet, allowing her to tug at his sensitive balls without question. “Take off my boots.”

Blind, he finds his way onto the floor and crawls towards the sound of her voice. He peels the leather off her slowly, kissing her calves. He peels her socks off and sucks her toes into his mouth. She pets the side of his face with her other foot, then shoves him back violently. Thrown off guard, he allows her to push him back to the bed, this time face up, knees spread wide.   
She shoves a lubed finger into him roughly and he moans, unable to keep quiet when she rubs his prostate again and again. 

“Make all the noise you want, pet,” she says. “I want to hear your every thought.” 

“Yes Violet, please.” A second finger joins the first. 

“How do you feel?”

“Full, so full, Violet, ah!” He pants violently, trying to keep from coming. After a minute, she slides something long and skinny into him, and he clenches around it, missing the width of her fingers.

“You were just made to be filled, pet. Look at you, trying so hard to replace me. Trust me, you’ll feel it soon, love.” She pushes his knees to the side and kneels on top of his thighs, preventing him from squirming as she tugs on his clamps. He starts to feel tingling in his ass, stinging ever so slightly against his raw skin. He grunts, trying to identify the odd sensation but she’s moved her hands to his dick and all he can think about is her nail pressing lightly into his slit.

“How do you feel, pet?” 

“Like stinging, Violet, oh like, like”

“Like a fire, darling?” As she’s distracted him, the sensation has gained warmth and hurt and heat and he’s shaking from the pull of it. She pinches the soft skin of his ribs. “I asked you a question.” Her voice holds threat and promise and it’s all he can do to focus. 

“Yes, Violet, like fire.” And then she’s climbing off him to tie his feet to the bed frame. 

“Would you like to prove to me that you can be good and keep your hands out of the way?” He nods feverishly. Her tone goes serious. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, Olaf. 

“No, no, Violet, I promise,” the gasp in his voice leaves her temporarily breathless. She loves the way he surrenders so utterly. 

“Okay pet, then reach up and don’t let go unless you want to safeword.” His fingers make contact with the cool wood and she reaches up to place an O-ring into his mouth. It’s his least favorite type of gag and she knows that, but she loves watching him try to talk through it, drool on his chin and chest, tongue lolling out. Loves how helpless it makes his quicksilver tongue.  
He’s actively rubbing against the sheets now but they afford him no quarter, no reprieve from the burning in his ass that’s just not quite where he needs it to be. A click of her tongue warns him and he stills, despite the sweat breaking out on his forehead and his desperate erection. 

She climbs on top of him, lace panties brushing against his dick, nails scrubbing through his hair as she removes his blindfold. 

“There,” she murmurs, “isn’t that better?” And it is it is, he can bear anything to see the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes when she watches his suffering stillness, the ache in his nipples and the burn, the stinging unavoidable crescendo filling him so perfectly. 

“Violet,” he breathes, letting his need for her purple the air between them, hanging breakable and quivering. She leans up to kiss him, and for the first time that day, his head goes quiet. There is nothing but her tongue, the bite of her teeth. The fire is not frantic any longer so much as it is steady, pleasurable, a fading star in comparison to her flame. 

She must see that he’s fallen hard because she decides not to tease him any longer. Scooting up, she opens herself up to his tongue and, craning his neck slightly, he devours her. Forget the fantastic cruelty of her laugh, the sharp curve of her nails, the sweet angles of her sadism. He would do anything for this- the smell of her filling the room, musky and tangy, the taste of her salty-sweet down his throat, the way she moves her hips instinctively against him, the bud of her clit worried between his teeth, soothed with his tongue, the way she comes, squirting in his mouth and down his neck, matting in his chest hair.

Satiated, she pops the clamps off him, and the rush of blood is painful noise in his staticky head. He knows nothing but her and her tongue cleaning him off, his erection laying in a pool of precome, forgotten. The rest of the night passes in a blur, the stars that burst behind his eyes as she takes him in her mouth, the sweet release of orgasm, the gasp when the ginger is slipped from inside him, the moan when she lowers them both into warm and scented water.

She washes his hair carefully, gentle and patient with his blurry thoughts and lazy comfort. He buries his face into her breasts, breathes in the scent of her, nuzzles his nose at the warmth beneath them. Time passes unnoticed, but eventually the sheets are changed and they are warm beneath cotton covers. 

“Violet,” he whispers, and she panics slightly, sitting up to hear him better. 

“What’s wrong, my love? Too much?” 

“No, no. I loved, I love,” he trails off.

“Olaf, please talk to me.” He summons the last of his strength. 

“Violet, you know there’s no one else. There will never be anyone else. As long as either of us lives.” Sighing, she brushes aside her worry and cards her hands through his hair, soft and curling. His eyes are bright in the light when she says “of course, Olaf. I knew that at the beginning. No one else could ever think to bring you here,” and his instinct is to tell her that she is right, she is always right. 

Instead, he slips into sleep.

The next morning, he catches himself humming an old lullaby as he drinks the cup of coffee she’s left by his bedside. The note next to it simply says thank you, my Olaf. My Owned.


End file.
